Mammy Never Told Me
by Harlequin Girl
Summary: Rory grew up never knowing who his father was, only being raised by his mother, in Ireland. But on his mother's funeral, he comes to learn that he has...two fathers? Rory learns about his life, and his world is turned upside down. AU. Sory. K for now.
1. Pr: Hummel's Story

**Disclaimer: **I do not own a single ounce of Glee.

**Author's Note**: This is my first fan fiction for Glee. I just thought I could write something and submit it to this site, for once. I hope it's not too crazy. This _will_ be a Sory fic. It'll just take a bit of time to get there. Even then, I hope you enjoy!

**Summary**: Rory grew up never knowing who his father was, only being raised by his mother, in Ireland. But on his mother's funeral, he comes to learn that he has—wait, two fathers? Rory learns about the life his mother hid from him, and his whole world is turned upside down.

* * *

Prologue: Hummel's Story

* * *

"I knew it. There was just something wrong with that woman. I just knew it!" The tall brunet grumbled under his breath as he paced around, back and forth, in front of his step-brother, his brother-in-law and his wife. Hushed curses slipped from the man's lips, earning the saddest glances from the people who sat around him.

"Finn, sit down. Please. You're stressing Kurt and Blaine. A-And me, for that matter," the petite brunette woman, Finn's wife Rachel, said in attempt to calm her husband's rage. Finn briefly shot Rachel an intense look, but his brown eyes soften as Rachel's words register in his mind. He looks over at his brother and brother-in-law, an apologetic look washing over his own face.

Kurt sat down on the arm of the couch, his mind nearly absent and his face showing deep sadness and _pain—_even though the smaller brunet tried to keep his tears back. His husband, Blaine, stood by him, a hand laid and squeezing onto Kurt's slightly shaking shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Finn mumbled, sitting himself on the free space on the couch opposite of Blaine and Kurt's, next to Rachel. "I didn't mean to do that. I just—I _never_ expected this to happen, Kurt, I—,"

"_Nobody_ expected this to happen," Blaine interjected, making both Finn and Rachel's eyes raise to look at the raven-haired male. "She had us completely fooled. Just—just drop it. Please."

Finn brows furrowed, lips parting to speak, but Rachel cut in before he was even able to get a word out. Luckily for him, Rachel spoke intending to attack the subject in hand—a serious issue that cannot be easily ignored. "We can't _drop it_, Blaine! This is horrible! That woman is cruel! You welcomed her into your home, befriended her, treated her like family and everything—and then she has the nerve to do _this_! She—she doesn't have the _right_ to _do_ this to you! It's _inexcusable_ and just _absurd_, you can't just expect either of us to _drop it_ like—,"

"_Please! Rachel!_" Kurt finally spoke, silencing his sister-in-law. His eyes, puffy, red and moist, lifted to look at everyone in the same room as him. His brother Finn, his sister-in-law Rachel and his husband Blaine. Kurt breathes in shakily. "Nothing could have prepared us for this. Just—neither me or Blaine knew that this is what she would do to us."

With a nod, Kurt continued; "I trusted her—_we_ trusted her. Rachel, I know you're angry and upset, and—,"

"Yeah, I'm angry. I'm upset." Rachel says, tears forming in her eyes. "I'm the one who introduced her to you. I thought that we can trust her, okay? She was new around town, she needed the money and—and—it's practically _my fault_, Kurt. It's _my fault_ you had to go through something like _this—_,"

"It's not your fault!" Kurt cuts in. "It's not _your_ fault. It's mine. She misunderstood my—_our_ kindness. And I guess that broke her heart, and that drove her to do this."

For a moment, the room fell into a deep silence. All four people bore their eyes into the carpeted flooring. Kurt's shaky sigh was what broke the silence, Blaine squeezing his husband's shoulder to comfort him.

"I just hope she's taking good care of Damian."

* * *

"Mammy?" The small, pale-skinned brunet, a boy about six years old, called with his little voice as he gently and shyly tugs on the skirt of his mother's dress. The red headed woman turned her gaze to her son, a bright smile on her face. The little boy stood close to his mother, looking up at her with slightly widened, nervous eyes.

"Why're ye lookin' at me like that, me boy? Did ye break one of yer nan's pots?" She asked with a soft giggle. The boy shook his head and his mother nods. "Ye want anything, my little angel?"

"Mammy, nan is asleep now. Can I go play out in the field?" The boy asked carefully, not wanting his mother to scold him—which is a very strange thing, since the woman never liked treating her son in that way. The red headed woman looked her son over, humming thoughtfully—_considering_ it. She let out a small bust of laughter once her son gave her his cute little pout.

"Of course ye can, me boy. Ye deserve to play—just don't go far, okay? Don't be out too long, either. Mammy will be starting on supper soon and she'll need her little angel's help." She said, bending down and pressing a light kiss on top of her son's nose. The boy smiled brightly, a smile that mirrored his mother's.

"Okay, mammy," he said sweetly, standing on the tip of his toes to press a small kiss on his mother's pale, freckled cheek before he's running out of his grand mother's farm house and into the vast field behind it.

Oh, how he loved visiting his grand mother's home. She owned a farm—well, technically, it was his late grand father's—and the boy just liked playing around the field. He liked helping with harvesting crops and tending the animals that were either scattered around the field or in the barn. When his cousins happen to be over as well, he would run around with them, out in this field. But now, alone and without a single chore given to him, he took time to just play with what nature provided him with. He ran around, followed birds as the crossed and the ladybug that he spotted once he laid down on the grass. After a while, he grew tired of watching the insect and just laid on his back, looking up at the clear blue sky, watching as clouds passed by.

Even as young as he is, the boy enjoyed this kind of life. Peaceful and quiet, by nature's side and by family's side. As happy as he is, the young boy just couldn't help but be intrigued of what kind of life lies in store, outside of this life he's in. He and his mother don't actually live in the countryside—he doesn't actually live in a farm, but he doesn't live in the city, either. And he doesn't _mean_ the city. He means—how's the world like?

The boy is curious. Maybe because the things that people tell him make him curious. There's a lot of things in his life that he's curious about. Mainly, he's curious about his family. What else doesn't he know about his warm and loving family, about the Flanagan clan? What was his mother like before she had him? For that matter, who was his dad? As far as he remembered, there never was a man he could call his father in the six years of his life. At that, the boy pouted.

Can he ask his mother about it? Can a little boy ask his mother about his absent father? All the boys in his school all had a father to play sports with, had someone to teach them things to prepare them for the responsibility that lay ahead in their lives and whatnot. Why didn't he have someone for that? Why does he only have a mom? Not that he didn't love her or anything like that—_I love my mammy so much!—_it's just that his curiosity is nagging at him, in a way. In a family, there's a mommy, a daddy and a baby. He has a mommy, and his mommy has a baby—where's his daddy, then?

For an hour, the young boy contemplated on this, nearly drifting into the land of dreams as he reflected, but was grabbed into consciousness by the sound of his mother's voice—calling for him.

"Rory, me boy! Time to help mammy prepare supper!" His mother called. The boy, Rory, sat up and yawned, looking up at the sky. It's actually getting a little dark. When Rory drops his eyes a little, he's able to catch sight of the sunset. Had he really been out that long? Had he really been that deep in his thoughts?

"Rory!" His mother called again and Rory slowly, but surely, got on his feet.

"I'm coming, mammy!" He called out as he ran back to the house.

* * *

_End of Prologue_

* * *

_**Author's Note**_: I don't have a beta, so please forgive me if I made any mistakes—which, I assume, would be a lot. The next chapter is Sam's story. Guess who his parents will be! Anyway, please drop a review.


	2. Pr: Sam's Story

_**Disclaimer**_: I do not own Glee.

_**Author's Note**_: I bet nobody would expect this pairing, but I'm hoping that it works. Besides, some of the original Glee members are going to be parents in this fic, so. Yeah. I hope it's not too disturbing.

_**Chapter Summary**_: Who is Sam? Well, Sam is the eldest son of a happily married couple. Not quite high school sweethearts, but a loving couple nonetheless.

* * *

**Prologue: Sam's Story**

_Almost four years before the Hummel story..._

* * *

Church bells rang loudly as a pair of white doves flew past, marking what is, so far, the happiest day of the bride's life. Friends and family of the bride and groom, all practically dressed to the nines, stood and cheered as the couple finished exchanging words, rings and kisses.

The freshly wedded couple walked down the aisle, hands clasped and fingers intertwined, with their guests following them close behind. The trip to the reception's venue was short, and once the bride and groom were properly seated, it was as if every guest rushed to take turns in congratulating the couple and sharing the most ridiculous stories about them, prior to the event.

The beautiful green-eyed blonde bride smiled at her new husband, soft laughter spilling past their smiling lips. This day is certainly the most joyous of their lives—so far. They knew that, a little ways down the road, there would be more pleasant events to follow.

The groom reached for his wife's hand, wrapping it with his own, the touch warm and loving. The bride leaned against her husband and listened through banter after banter of guest after guest. Their friends and family were sure prepared with stories to share.

"I never really did guess that they would be the ones to end up together," said Kurt Anderson-Hummel, sending a happy glance to the couple. "I mean, not to be rude or anything, but I didn't expect you guys to even end up together. Just think—a couple who were _barely even friends_ in high school, ending up to be one of the cutest couples a few years later. Now, just married! Who knew?"

A fit of laughter.

"But I'm really happy for you two. I really am," Kurt smiled. "You two have suffered hardships throughout the years, and I know it's not for me to list them down. But, Quinn, you have went through a lot in your life. It's about time you took a step into the path of happiness. Because you—you _deserve_ all the happiness."

"Thank you," the bride, Quinn, mouthed.

"And you," Kurt started, looking at the groom and pointing towards him. "You, too, deserve all the happiness. Mike Chang, you are one of the kindest, sweetest and most loving people I've ever met. You had your ups and downs, heartbreaks and disappointments. But know that, now that you two are together, neither of you would have to go through those things. Be happy with one another, love one another—and, for God's sake, make some babies! I'm dying to be an uncle!"

Another fit of laughter.

"All in all, I'm happy for you both. I'm happy to know that you're in love and that today is the day you start combining your lives," Kurt smiled when the two gave him the sweetest pair of smiles. "I'm pretty sure everybody in this hall agrees with me when I say _congrats, Mike and Quinn_."

"_Congrats, Mike and Quinn!,_" the room repeated.

"Thank you, everyone," Quinn said.

The dancing and feasting began.

* * *

A year later and Quinn finds herself in the hospital. Her husband is walking down the hall with her, along with friends Kurt, Blaine and Rachel. Finn, Rachel's husband, couldn't make it since he was all the way in Spain, working on a major project. Mike held onto his wife's hand gently, squeezing slightly, a silent message passed.

Quinn had just given birth, and they were on their way to see their baby.

Once they were faced with the wall and window that separated them from the nursery, happy smiles curled on their faces. Five pairs of eyes looked through the l beds, at the infants wrapped in bundles of blankets. Quinn tightened her hold on Mikey's hand as she searched for her baby.

"Oh my God, Mike, Quinn!" Rachel squealed softly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The four others with Rachel snapped their eyes over to her. "Your baby! He's over there!" Rachel pointed, squealing as silently as she could. Mike and Quinn turned their gaze from their friend to the calm infant in one of the cribs.

Happy tears rolled down Quinn and Mike's cheeks as they saw their baby, sleeping calmly and quietly. To the two of them, just like any pair of parents would say, he looked like an angel. And he _is_ an angel.

"He looks just like you, Quinn," Mike said softly, letting go of Quinn's hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders, a thumb rubbing against the point of her shoulder. Quinn sniffled and could not help the grin that ripped through her face. She leaned against her husband, her cheek resting on his shoulder.

"He's our perfect thing, Mike," she whispered before leaning up to kiss his jaw.

"You made such a beautiful child," Kurt says, smiling at Mike and Quinn. The two turned to look at Kurt and thanked him. "Being able to have a child—it's a beautiful, miraculous gift. I'm envious of that."

"Oh, Kurt, I'm sure you' and Blaine would have a child of your own, some day," Mike said with a warm smile. Blaine nudged Kurt and the two husbands smiles at each other, considering the idea. Mike's smile never faltered. "Be it a surrogate or adopted. You will still have a child."

"The talk of children really makes me happy to be married, you know?" Rachel said, turning heads. "I wish to have one or two of my own, some day."

"Then that settles it," Blaine started with a grin, "We will all have children and, once they've grown up, they would be as close a friend as we are to each other."

"Sounds like a plan!" Quinn smiled.

"I'm looking forward to having young Barbara or Patti and having her be friends with your bundles of joy," Rachel said with a giggle. "But, for now, we have forgotten a little something. An _important_ little something."

"What is it, Rachel?" Blaine asked and Rachel smiled. The brunette looked over at Mike and Quinn.

"What are you naming your baby boy?"

Silence.

Smile.

"Samuel."

* * *

When they heard about the sad news, Sam was only three years old—nearly four, but three nonetheless. The time they heard about it straight from Rachel, they had just tucked Sam in. Mike was pacing around, walking back and forth while Quinn sat on the edge of their bed, a sad look on her face.

"I can't believe this happened to them," Quinn said, nearly broken in tears. She she held back her sniffles and tears, knowing that it must feel worse for Kurt and Blaine. Mike nodded and paused on his tracks, looking at his wife. With a soft sigh, he walked over to her and sat by her, wrapping an arm around Quinn's shoulders and pulling her close to him. "Why did she have to take him away?"

"I know, it's awful," Mike said, cooing. "The thought of Kurt and Blaine's son being taken away is horrible, I know, Quinn."

"Why did she have to do it?" Quinn sniffled quietly.

"Think of it this way, Quinn," Mike started with a sigh. "It's her baby, too. Yes, Kurt is the father—and she was paid for it. They ensured her that Damian would have a good life with them, once he was born. Even _she_ knew that, for a fact. She had stayed with them, after all," Mike said and gave another sigh. "But, you have to understand, it's _her _child, too."

"It's her child, but Damian is Kurt's son, too! She wouldn't have Damian if it weren't for Kurt, and _Kurt_ wanted to have Damian so she was called for _help—,_"

"Would you give Sam away?" Mike cut her off and Quinn's eyes widened. Quinn turned her head and shot Mike a look. "If you were in Clodagh's position, would you give your baby away? _Your own flesh and blood_?" Quinn's eyes went impossibly wide as her husband uttered those words. She tore herself away from Mike.

"You _did not_ just go there," Quinn said sharply, nearly a hiss.

"Quinn," Mike started, stern. "You of all people should understand why Clodagh did what she did,"

"You are _not_ bringing this up _right now_, Mike," Quinn said, her tone warning.

"You should _know_ because you lost your first child like—,"

Before Mike could finish his sentence, his wife is getting up on her feet. She waved her hand at Mike, dismissing his words and just completely ignoring whatever he had left to say.

"I'm going to sleep in Sam's room," she said.

"Quinn—," Mike reached out to grab his wife's hand, but Quinn lifted her arm and just stormed out of the room. Mike watched as Quinn slammed the door closed. With a sigh, he laid back on his and his wife's shared bed, lifting his hands to bury his face into the palms of his hands.

"...smooth."

* * *

_End of Prologue_

* * *

_**Author's Note**_: I bet you didn't expect Mike, of all people, to be Sam's dad, huh? Well, there are more surprises to be expected—or be unexpected—in the future chapters. Truthfully, I'm just now organizing my ideas—and the plot. Well, please leave a review!


	3. One: You're Just Like Him

_**Disclaimer**_: I do not own Glee but, like every single one of you, I want to. I mean, if I did, Sam and Rory would tongue-kiss in every episode for ten minutes. Sadly, I _don't_ own Glee so that won't happen.

_**Author's Note:**_ Thank you so much for the reviews, _SkewedReality_ and _monkiimax_! They made me feel better about the first two chapters. I don't know when _that_ time will come just yet, but I'll work on getting there. Otherwise, this chapter's a little strange and confusing—for me, at least.

_**Chapter Summary**_: Rory doesn't have a lot of friends, and his school-mates like to pick on him. Honestly, his mother is kind of his only hope. But Rory can't help but wonder who and where his father is...

* * *

_**Chapter One**: You're Just Like Him_

* * *

Crash—_slam_!

"Stop!"

SLAM!

"Please, stop!"

Slam!

"Stop it! It hurts!" Rory whimpered, choking out a breath. The large boy that held Rory by the collar slammed him against the lockers right behind him once again. Rory let out a pained whimper, eyes squeezed shut.

"Shut yer gob, ye little bastard!" The large boy said as he slammed Rory against the lockers once more, watching as Rory visibly winced. The students around them watched silently, laughed or carried on with their path. The teachers, as it seemed to Rory, only turned their heads away and pretended not to have witnessed the pain and humiliation that this stranger inflicted on him.

"Please, just put me down," Rory pleaded weakly, squeezing his eyes tighter and letting his head hang to hide his face. The boy snorted and grinned.

"Aw, what now? Ye going to cry, you wimpy bastard?" The boy laughed, his friends doing the same. "Ye going to run and cry to yer momma about being a bastard?" Rory bit his lip and said nothing. "Wee little loser's going to run to his momma and cry—,"

"Trevor, let's go. We'll be late," said one of the boy's friends and, with a bit of hesitation, the bully let go of Rory's shirt, letting him fall weakly onto the floor. Rory had to catch himself, despite his slightly shaky knees. Without saying another word, the large bully grabbed his things and left, trailing off with laughter.

Rory sighed and let his head hang once more, too ashamed to look at the faces of the students and faculty around him. He let his eyes crack open by the slightest, bending to reach for his things. Another bully crossed by to kick his book farther from him and Rory nearly crawled over to grab it. When he stood up, he made the mistake of keeping his eyes open.

He saw everybody's faces—large grins, laughing lips, snarls and disgusted looks. Rory swallowed thickly and looked down at his feet, nearly running to his next class. He's absolutely tired of this. He just wants to go home.

* * *

"Rory, me boy, what's with the long face?" Clodagh frowned once her son came back from school. Rory was practically trudging into his and his mother's house, a tired and sad expression clear on his face. Clodagh pouted and put whatever she was doing aside in order to see what was wrong with her son.

Once Rory was in their living room, he plopped down onto the couch, grabbing a cushion and just burying his face in it. Clodagh sighed and left the room for a moment, letting Rory groan out into the pillow by himself. When Clodagh came back, Rory was curling in on himself. With a small smile, she walked over to the couch and patted Rory's hip until he moved, leaving space for her to sit in.

"Mammy's got two ears, hon," Clodagh said, patting Rory's hip once more. "And they're wide open for ye, dear. Mammy's ready, so out with the words, me boy."

When his mother said that, Rory lifted his head slightly to look at her. The red headed woman was smiling warmly at him, expectant and encouraging. She wasn't able to see the puffy and wet eye of Rory then, but when Rory sat up and let the cushion down on his lap, she frowned.

"Yari? Why're ye crying, sweetheart?" She asked softly.

"Mammy, life is so hard," Rory said weakly, sniffling. "The kids at school don't like me at all. I've only been there for a few weeks and I already hate it."

"What happened today?"

Rory sighed and leaned back against the rest of the couch. "I got picked on again, mam. They were pushing me into lockers, calling me names, making fun of me because I don't have a pap and..."

"...and?" Clodagh urged.

A frown settled on Rory's lips. "...they were calling ye names, mam."

"Calling me names?" Clodagh asked and, from the look that Rory had on his face, she got what he meant. Nodding, she scooted closer to Rory and wrapped her arms around him. She pulled her son closer, Rory burying his face in her shoulder. "Oh, Rory," Clodagh cooed, stroking his back.

Rory sniffled. "They're not true. I know it, mam."

"If ye knew it, ye shouldn't be crying!" Rory's mother giggled. "Ye shouldn't cry, sweetie. Those are just words. _Lies_. If ye know the truth, then those words shouldn't hurt ye. Ye know mammy, and I'm not like that. So don't cry, okay?"

The brunet bit his lip and nodded. "But it still hurt, mammy. They do it everyday and I just can't take it."

Clodagh nodded and silence draped over them for a good moment, neither one pulling away from the warm and comforting embrace. An idea popped in the woman's head and a grin stretched onto her face. She pulled away from her son, hands on his upper arms. The smile on his mother's face gave him the idea that his mother has something enlightening to say. "You know what? I have a trick or two for ye. So those little bad eggs would leave ye alone."

"What, mam?" Rory asked.

"Ye ignore them. Simple as that. Ye can smile, too. Even when they're saying mean things to ye—bullies _hate_ it when people smile. It's like garlic for vampires, ye know?" Clodagh smiled. Rory arched a brow.

"...that doesn't make any sense, to be honest..."

"Oh, boy, people like those—they hate it when, even after doing what they do to ye, ye still have the guts to smile and say nice things to them. Makes them feel guilty, sometimes," Clodagh sighed and grabbed Rory's hands, holding them in hers. "Be strong, little angel. Ye can do it!"

Finally, a smile cracked onto Rory's face. "Thank ye, mammy," Rory said before leaning close and wrapping his hands around his mother for a tight hug. Clodagh smiled and returned the favor, tightening her arms around Rory. "Anything for me little boy," she grinned, squeezing him before pulling away.

"Well, now, boy, is there anything else?"

The smile on Rory's face dropped. He had something serious to ask her.

"Mammy, if I ask ye something, ye would give me an answer, right? Any question?"

"Any question," Clodagh affirmed.

"Well, I am old enough to know this, so," Rory cleared his throat and looked his mother straight in the eye. "What kind of man was pap?" He asked carefully. Clodagh visibly became serious. "Whenever we talk about pap, it's like yer always finding a way out of it."

"Sweetheart..."

"Mam, I don't know a single thing about pap," Rory said weakly, looking down and avoiding the sight of whatever face his mother was making. "I just want to know. All me life, I've never known him. All I ask is for ye to tell me what kind of man he was like."

"Would that put a smile on yer face?"

"To be honest, mam, it would," Rory said, but pouted suit. "Well, if it's bad then—,"

"I can't tell ye everything about yer pap, sweetheart," Clodagh began, stroking Rory's arm. "But if ye really want to know about yer pap, well, I can tell ye that he was a very nice man. He had good friends—some closer than most, but had many good friends. He was very nice to me, very warm. He was really happy when ye were still in me belly. He wanted to have ye, sweetheart. So when those kids pick on you and say that ye were a mistake, it's a lie. Yer pappy wanted ye to be born in this world,"

The sides of Rory's lips curled.

"And another thing," Clodagh started, lifting her hands, "You, Rory, me boy," she placed her hands on either side of Rory's face, cupping his cheeks. "Are like yer pap. You look a lot like him—his soft brown hair," she lifted her hand to card her fingers through Rory's hair, "Yer pretty blue eyes," she stroked a thumb over his eyes, "Yer cute little nose," she taps the tip of his nose before cupping Rory's cheeks in her hands again. "Yer skin, too. Yer pap _really_ cared about his skin, you'd be surprised."

Rory giggled.

"Yer pap was a very good singer, too," Rory's mother smiled. "He sang the most beautiful songs I've ever heard, me boy. He sang to me every day and every night—he sang to ye, me darling. So it's not a surprise why ye can sing so beautifully, too. Ye got yer pap's good looks and talent."

Rory's smile grew.

"Pap sounds like an interesting guy," Rory said, looking down at his lap with a grin. His mother lifts a hand to stroke his hair, nodding. "He really was, boy. He really was—he was a kind, talented, friendly and loving man indeed. Just like you—and he loved ye very much, Rory. He really did," Clodagh said with a smile.

"What happened to him?"

Silence.

Clodagh pulled away and let her hands down on her lap. "That's something I can't tell ye," she said before patting her lap and getting up. "Well, that was a nice heart-to-heart, wasn't it, Rory?"

Rory looked up at his mother, the look on his face contradicting his thoughts. His face showed a small and warm smile towards his mother, but in his head, he thought to himself; _why does she keep doing this when we talk about dad?_

"Ye really set me mind to ease, mam," Rory said, sitting up. Clodagh smiled and gave Rory a few pats on the head, then leaning to press a kiss against his forehead.

"Well, sweetheart, it's time to eat. I had the table set up twenty minutes ago and the food's getting cold! I even made yer favorite, today!" Rory's eyes widened, struggling to get up from his current position—his mother truly is the best cook he knows, and his favorite dish is the _most delicious meal to have ever existed_. "Up on yer feet, boy, and fill up that belly! I'm against me son being skinny! Go, go, go!" With a pat on the back, Rory jogged happily to the kitchen.

Sighing, Clodagh crossed her arms over her chest.

"I can't keep this up forever, can I?"

* * *

_End of Chapter_

* * *

_**Author's Note**_: I have an idea on what happens, now! I want to put up multiple chapters per week—since I have a lot of free time in my hands. I do like the name Clodagh... Anyway, please leave a review!


	4. Two: The Average Child

_**Disclaimer**_: I do not own Glee. I do not own anybody—except Helena. She's mine.

_**Author's Note**_: Thank you for the review, _SkewedReality_, _msmtnest_ and _monkiimax_! Rory will find out, soon. But since I find this setup interesting, for now, chapters shift from Rory to Sam. This won't be for every two chapters; I'm just buying time. I also want to introduce a few people, before then. Like, in this chapter, I'm introducing someone important!

_**Chapter Summary**_: Young Sam grew up to be a nice boy. When the Lopez-Pierce family moves into his and his parents' neighborhood, he meets a boy who would become his closest friend.

* * *

_**Chapter Two**: The Average Child_

_A few years after Sam's Story..._

* * *

Quinn looked over at her son, drumming her fingers against the tabletop nervously. Mike smiled at her and placed a hand over hers, ceasing her finger's movements. Quinn shifted her eyes from Sam to Mike. Mike's smile was assuring.

"It's not like he's a shy boy. He'll be fine," Mike said. Quinn frowned.

"Well, I just can't help but worry about him, you know? He's still young. Who knows what will happen to him there—kids at that grade are mean to _new_ kids, you know," Quinn said and Mike let out a chuckle.

"Well, Sam's not _weak_, you know. Not that he'd fight or anything—I'm just saying, he's not the type they'd pick on. Sam's a nice boy! I'm sure he'll get friends rather than bullies," Mike said. Quinn sighed, then shrugged.

"Could be. Our son _is_ _just charming_," Quinn grinned and Mike did the same, giving her a pat on the shoulder.

"He got that from you, I guess?" Mike laughed. Just then, the door bell rang. Mike arched a brow and looked over at the door. "Are we expecting anyone?" He asked and Quinn giggled, getting up.

"Yeah. Santana and Brittany just moved into the neighborhood, I think, and they wanted to come visit," Quinn said, making her way to the door. Mike got up, glancing over at Sam for a moment, watching as he ran to his room, before following Quinn to the door.

"We could have just visited them and helped them move in, if they wanted," he said. Quinn shrugged and unlocked the door, then opening it. They were then greeted with Santana and Brittany's smiling faces. Quinn smiled and outstretched her arms for a hug, which both women returned her with.

"Hey, Q," Santana greeted Quinn before glancing over at Mike, "Hey, Asian," she greeted him. Mike arched a brow and shrugged, letting Santana be Santana. Brittany greeted them, too, giving Mike a hug as well. "Glad to know you two would be in our neighborhood. At least we won't feel as weird being back to Lima," said Santana.

"_We're_ glad _you're_ in the neighborhood. Everyone else who lives here are—well, let's just say you won't like them either," Quinn said with a shrug. Brittany and Santana did the same.

"Well, it's better than the place we lived in. This environment is much better for the kids, so," Brittany shrugged. Quinn and Mike blinked quickly, a little shocked, then looked down—they didn't even notice the two children standing quietly, almost blending with Santana and Brittany's coats. The boy looked up at Quinn and Mike, a bright smile on his face, while the little girl held onto her brother's hand, hiding behind him.

Santana, Brittany and their children walked into the Chang-Fabray house, the two women more comfortable walking into their friends' house than their children. The two walked, hiding in their mothers' coats. Quinn decided that she wanted to get to know them, so she went over to them.

"Well, hello there," Quinn said, crouching and waving her hand.

The boy smiled. "Hi, Miss Q," he said, and Quinn nearly melted. He had such a sweet smile, and a cute voice. Quinn looked at him a little closer and took in his appearance; blond hair, bluish-green eyes behind a pair of glasses and rosy cheeks. This had to be Brittany's child. The other thing that she noticed was that this boy didn't really know his name—he probably just copied Santana. Quinn smiled at him.

"You can call me Auntie Quinn, if you'd like," she said and the boy's smile grew wider.

"Hi, Auntie Quinn!" The boy said. The four adults laughed softly at the boy's enthusiastic voice. Mike stepped closer and the boy looked at him. "Uncle...Asian?"

Santana cackled and Mike pouted at her before smiling at the boy. "My name is Mike. I'm Auntie Quinn's husband. You can call me Uncle Mike. Or something," he said, feeling a little awkward. It's been a while since he'd talked to a child other than his own.

"Hello, Uncle Mike!" The boy said and Quinn cooed.

"Oh my God, he is so cute," Quinn said adoringly as she got up. Brittany and Santana smiled.

"Thank you," the boy said and Quinn continued to coo.

"What's your name, then, boy?" Mike asked and the boy looked up at him.

"Cameron Lopez-Pierce is my name, sir!" He said and the couple smiled at him. Once Cameron had stated his name, the girl behind him shifted—only hiding more. Santana looked down, noticing this. With a sigh, she bent down and carried the girl in her arms, making her let go of her brother's hand. Quinn looked at her.

"And this is?"

"Oh, this is little Helena. She's the sweetest little baby girl ever," Santana said adoringly, making the girl giggle. She squeezed her arms around her child. "Come on, Hellie-booboo, say something to little lady Blondie," Santana encouraged and the girl turned her head. Quinn took in _her_ appearance; light skin, blue eyes but she still bore resemblance to Santana. She had Santana's nose, hair color—she looked like Santana, but different.

The girl smiled shyly. "You're pretty."

"Thank you. You're pretty, too, Helena," Quinn said back.

"Yeah, you bet she is!" Brittany said, walking over to Santana, the other passing her their daughter. Brittany held Helena in her arms. Santana looked back at Quinn and Mike. "So, where's _your_ Asian-Blondie hybrid?"

"Sam's in his room," Mike said with an arched brow. He glanced over at Cameron, the boy who stood not far behind Brittany, an idea popping in his head. He turned to look at Quinn, Santana and Brittany. "Hey, I have an idea," he said, making the three women look at him.

"What is it, Mike?" Brittany asked.

"Well, Cameron's going to school soon, right?" Mike asked and the boy's mothers nodded. Quinn arched a brow, catching on with what her husband was trying to say. She continued for him; "Well, our little Sammy's going to school, soon, too. And since Cameron is newer here than Sam is, they can be..."

"Besties?" Brittany gasped happily. Santana rolled her eyes a little but nodded.

"I see your point, Barbie and Jackie," Santana said. "I say go for it. Cam doesn't have friends, he didn't have that many to start with either, so I think it's a good idea for him and little blond guppy face to be besties."

"Great, then," Mike clapped his hands together. He took a step back and walked towards Cameron. "Hey, Cameron, would you like to meet Sam?"

* * *

Sam was in his room, looking through his games. He didn't know what to play—or, rather, he doesn't know if he wants to play or if he should just watch _Star Wars_ for the umpteenth time. Usually, his dad would help him with that choice. There were times that his father came in his room with a new science fiction movie, game or even a new issue of his favorite comic book. But his mom and dad are busy—no luck expecting that, then.

The blond boy sighed and sat back, his television turned on and a random channel that played cartoons showed. He guesses that he can just watch a run of _I Am Weasel_ until his dad was finished with whatever he and his mom were doing.

Without his dad, he felt lonely. Sometimes he wishes that he had more people to play with.

Just then, he heard a knock on his door. Sam jumped a little from hearing it. He turned his head to the door, watching as it was pushed open slightly. He was expecting it to be his dad or his mom—wanting to spend time with either one of them, at the moment.

Instead, he saw a blond boy with glasses, peeking his head in. Sam blinked and got up.

"Hi," the boy said.

"Hello," Sam greeted back.

"I'm Cameron," the boy said with a toothy grin. Sam can't help but smile back.

"I'm Sam. Sam, I am...and I don't like green eggs and ham. Not like mommy cooks green eggs and ham. Well, last year, she did and it tasted nice but they looked weird..."

"My mommy cooked green eggs and ham, too! But it had a weird smell and when mommy ate it, she had a tummy ache, so mom threw it away..."

Sam arched a brow. "You have two mommies?"

Cameron blinked and nodded. "I have mommy Brittany and mom Santana. I also have a little sister, Helena."

Sam blinked curiously. "How can you have two mommies? I only have one mommy, and I have one daddy."

"I get that a lot," Cameron frowned. "But my mommies are good mommies! There are meanies who say that having two mommies is weird and that they're bad and stuff. But my mommies are good to me and Hellie. It's not nice to say bad thing about my mommies..."

"I'm not saying that, though!" Sam said with a frown, feeling bad that this boy thought that he was insulting him. He was not a bully. "My uncle Blaine and uncle Kurt are two daddies, and mommy said that they're just like her and daddy. So, having two mommies would be the same, right?"

"Yeah," Cameron said, smiling. Then it got to him; he knew those people that the other blond was talking about! Cameron shifted. "You know uncle Kurt and uncle Blaine?"

"Yup, I do. They're mommy and daddy's friends," Sam nodded.

"They're mommy and mom's friends, too!" Cameron said happily. Sam smiled.

"Hey, why don't you come in?" Sam said. Cameron blinked, noticing that his head was the only part of him visible to the other blond boy, and leaning the way he did felt uncomfortable. Taking Sam up for his offer, Cameron pushed the door open a little further until he was able to slide through the crack—which wasn't all that difficult. Sam noticed that the boy is tall and skinny—but he was much more taken by the boy's glasses.

Cameron, on the other hand, was amused with Sam's colorful clothing. Sam had on a pair of yellow socks, a purple hoodie, a pair of green pajama pants and a yellow shirt—different from Cameron's own solidly and solely blue outfit.

The two decided, silently, that they liked the other boy enough to be friends.

"So, who are your mommies?" Sam asked, sitting down on the edge of his bed. Cameron stood awkwardly, a step or two away from the door.

"My mommy's name is Brittany Lopez-Pierce, and my mom is Santana Lopez-Pierce," Cameron said. Sam's brows rose. "They're friends with your mommy and daddy, Auntie Quinn and Uncle Mike."

"Oh, that's cool!" Sam smiled. "Mommy and daddy have a lot of friends. I'm jealous."

"You don't have friends?" Cameron asked, eyes wide—he couldn't believe it.

"No, I have friends," Sam said. Cameron nodded. "But not many."

"Me neither," Cameron frowned. Sam looked at Cameron for a moment, thinking. Then, an idea popped in his head. With a grin, he spoke;

"Would you like to be my friend, Cameron?"

Cameron looked at Sam, eyes widening more. With a fairly-wide grin, Cameron said;

"That'd be awesome!"

From then on, the two blond boys were friends.

* * *

_A few years later..._

* * *

"_Can you give me one good reason why I should?_" Sam faintly heard his aunt Santana's voice, even when the woman was downstairs.

Sam was over at the Lopez-Pierce house since his parents are gone until the weekend. His father had been called to dance at a show in California, and his mother went to New York to help his aunt Rachel with some things—having had heard that she and her husband are moving back to Lima because everybody else has.

Cameron and Sam have been friends for ten years—close friends, actually. Staying over wasn't that foreign to either of them as they've done so through the course of the years of friendship. By now, Sam had gotten used to his aunt Santana's taunting. The only thing that was off was that the two went to different schools. Sure, Sam and Cameron went to the same kindergarten and primary school. But high school is much more difficult, and what better than to spend these difficult years with your close friend?

So, today, Sam encouraged Cameron to talk his mothers into letting him go to McKinley instead of Dalton.

"_Come on, mom, please. Why can't I go? I barely have friends in my school, and I've been going there for years! At least I'd have Sam when I go to McKinley,_" Cameron whined. Sam shrugged—it was true.

"_Mom, can I say something?_" Sam heard Helena, making him arch a brow. He thought Helena had locked herself in her room once again. It seemed like Helena was always there when Cameron and Santana are negotiating. Her siding really depended on the purpose. "_Dalton is a gay school, and I hate it just as much as Cameron the dorky douche-face does. Their goodie-goodie get-up makes me want to puke on their pretty little faces. I'm all for changing schools, too._"

...and she took Cameron's side.

"_Well, look at it this way,_" Sam heard his Aunt Brittany say, "_At least they're not asking for this in the middle or at the end of a school year. The year has barely begun for them—and, think about it, at least they wouldn't have to wear dry-clean only uniforms anymore. And we wouldn't have a problem about Lord Tubbington pooping on their shirts..._"

Santana audibly sighed.

"_Fine. Hellie and Cam, you two can go to McKinley,_" Santana announced. Helena, Cameron and Brittany did their little cheer—Sam knows it. His Aunt Brittany made this dance and chant with Cameron and Helena years ago, the first performance being on Cameron's tenth birthday and they had just convinced Santana to let the kids that came to the party have a second serving of cake.

"_Awesome!_" Sam heard Cameron say, followed by a faint slapping sound—probably him and Helena.

"_Go tell guppy face that you'll be schoolmates this year,_" Santana said and then Sam could hear fast footsteps, as well as curses. Helena and Cameron must have been having some sort of war up the staircase.

Soon enough, Cameron bolted through the door and took a tumble towards Sam, tripping over him and landing almost violently on his bed.

"...mission accomplished!" Cameron said into the sheets of his bed. Sam laughed.

"I can barely hear you over the sound of bed," Sam said and Cameron sat up, fixing his glasses. Cameron picked his Dalton Academy blazer up from the side of his bed and and threw it across the room.

"Down with Dalton! Mom's enrolling me to McKinley," Cameron said with a thumbs up. Sam grinned and held his hand up for Cameron to slap with his own.

"Awesome! Now we can get some things done!" Sam said and Cameron arched a brow.

"By things, you mean...?"

"I don't know. _Stuff_," Sam said. Cameron sniffed.

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Cameron said and Sam shrugged and mumbled something in Na'vi back. Cameron rolled his eyes.

Just then, something flew towards them—a bag of chips that hit Sam square in the face. When the bag slid down to Sam's lap, Sam picked it up and discovered that it was a bag of his favorite chips; Cool Ranch Doritos.

"Here's your snack," Helena sighed from the door frame. Sam looked up at the girl and arched a brow. Cameron's sister was so sweet, way back when. Now, she'd become the younger version of their mom. Always threw insults and taunts directed to either Sam or Cameron; nobody was spared from her wrath. So it's weird to see Helena being nice—even if it's just a bag of Doritos. "Is that all?"

"Yes, little sister. Thank you," Cameron grinned, feeling triumphant. Sam looked at him, at the look he had on his face, then back at Helena. That's why Helena was being nice. There was something going on—actually, something _went_ on. As mean as she was, she was still the baby of the Lopez-Pierce household. If she wanted to do something, she needed permission—or Cameron's responsibility. In this case, she had a favor to ask Cameron and for him to agree to it, she had to be nice.

Her siding with him earlier on was an act to that.

"Enjoy your nerd fest," Helena snarled. "You _owe_ me!"

"That's why I'm going to the concert with you!" Cameron said. At that, Helena's eyes widened and a smile appeared on her scowling face. With a squeak, her expression completely changed.

"You're the best four-eyed nerdy brother ever!" Helena said, blowing Cameron a kiss before happily rushing back to her room. For a moment, it was silent in Cameron's room—but that silence was then broken by the burst of laughter coming from the two teen boys.

"That was hilarious, honestly," Cameron said, sitting up. Sam crawled to put a movie in the player, tossing the bag of Doritos at Cameron for him to open. "But I love her. I really do."

"The benefits of being her big brother, is it?" Sam said, smiling once the screen showed the title menu. When Cameron caught glimpse of it, he groaned.

"_Avatar_ again!"

"It's an _awesome movie_," Sam said.

"This is, like, the _ninth time_ you've watched it,"

"Still won't change the fact that it's _awesome_,"

"Right, whatever," Cameron sniffed. Sam moved back and sat on the futon on the floor, snatching the bag of chips from his friend. "The important thing right now is that I'm going to McKinley this year, so we can hang out more and stuff. I can even help you with your studies. I can't understand why you keep failing tests."

"Dyslexia makes it hard, dude. Don't rub it in," Sam said. Cameron shrugged, as if to say that that wasn't what he was trying to say.

"As long as your school has active academics groups and stuff, I'm fine," Cameron said. Remembering something, he snapped his fingers. "Hey, I heard McKinley has a Glee club. You think I can—?"

"Dude, if you plan on joining the Mathemaniacs _and_ the Glee club on your first day of school, be sure that everyone will think you have a death wish," Sam warned. "Slushies _in the face_, man. You don't want ice shards in your eye, do you?"

"Well, no—,"

"Then don't," Sam said waving the subject off. Cameron sighed. "_Fine_," he said.

"Other than that, though, I've got a good feeling about this," The younger of the two said. Sam arched a brow and looked away from the screen to look at Cameron. "And why is that?" He asked and Cameron shrugged.

"I don't know why, but, I just think that something good will happen, this year."

* * *

_End of Chapter_

* * *

_**Author's Note**:_ Worst chapter ever, so far. Longest, too. Complete filler so it won't make much sense. While writing this, I only had one thing in mind; Cameron Mitchell's tendency to say "be a nerd," so he is a geek and or dork here, instead. I still hope this chapter was okay. Please review!


	5. Three: Rory, Dearest

_**Disclaimer**:_ I do not own Glee.

_**Author's Note**:_ Thank you for the reviews, _SkewedReality_, _JamieOfSuburbia, monkiimax_ and _thewordswithin_! Actually, I have plans for Cameron and Rory—and I'm hoping that they're good for the story. Maybe in three or four chapters—I'm not sure yet. This chapter is sad. Well, I think it is.

_**Summary**: _Clodagh decides that it's time Rory knew the truth—but things don't go the way they should.

* * *

_**Chapter Three**:_ _Rory, Dearest_

_Two years after You're Just Like Him..._

* * *

He's grown up.

Rory's still barely fifteen, but Clodagh was sure he's grown up.

That's one of the best things in him; he was mature for his age. He handled things with much more thought, care and consideration than most teenagers would. Innocent as he may be. Rory respects everyone, is nice to everyone no matter what they do to him. Rory is just perfect. Clodagh is very proud of him.

That's why she's guilty.

With all that's been said about Rory, she feels guilty for keeping a big part of him a secret. Rory deserved to know how he came to be. He grew up never knowing his father, and having been picked on just for that.

But it's not like it's an easy thing to say and do; how was Clodagh supposed to say that Rory's father is a married gay man who, along with his husband, paid her to bear his child? How was she supposed to say that she practically stole him from his supposed fathers? That's why she kept everything to herself. That's why Rory knew absolutely nothing.

It seems that karma had found its way, though.

About a year ago, Clodagh had been diagnosed with a disease that could very well kill her in the span of two or three years. Sure, she'd been going through a certain type of therapy to avoid this, but she couldn't help but think that this is a sign; a sign for her to tell Rory everything before it's too late.

The red headed woman looked over her son's sleeping form. He looked so peaceful—her own little angel. When Rory found out about his mother's condition, it almost broke Clodagh's heart. She knew very well that she was all that he had. Rory didn't have that many friends, and he'd grown so attached to his mother. If Clodagh did die, then that would mean that Rory would be left with nothing. At least leaving Rory with a father, or two, would be much better.

She wanted that much for him.

"I'm sorry, love," Clodagh murmured as she carded her fingers through the silky brown locks that was Rory's hair. She stroked his temple with her thumb, carrying on; "I'm sorry I kept all of this from ye. I love ye so much, me little angel," Clodagh felt a tear roll down from her eye to her cheek. She sniffled. "You deserve the truth. I should never have lied to ye."

Clodagh swallowed.

"I'm going to get him for ye," Clodagh whispered. "I'm going to give ye to them. So if ever I do have to part, at least I know I left ye in good care," and with that, Clodagh pulled her hand away and got up. She walked out of Rory's room quietly, careful not to wake him up. She took quick and quiet steps towards her room and rummaged through the drawers of her desk and through the boxes on shelves.

Eventually, she found what she was looking for. With a sigh of relief, Clodagh hid the papers in her bedside drawer and slipped into her bed. Tomorrow, she would have to go to her sister's; she had a phone call to make.

* * *

"Oh, yer back, are you?" A woman with long and curly red hair asked Clodagh with a smile. Clodagh returned the favor and walked up to her, hugging her. "Sure am, Erin. This is really important," she said. The woman, Clodagh's twin sister Erin, nodded and gave her a pat on the shoulder as she pulled away.

"You're doing the right thing," she said seriously.

Clodagh had been going back and forth to Erin's place for days, and without Rory's knowledge. She had to do this in the day, while her son was at school. She didn't want him to know what she was doing, nor did she want him to worry about her and her condition. Rory is just caring, that way. But he didn't want him to worry at all.

She was doing this for him, after all.

"I'll pay you back soon," Clodagh said but Erin shook her head.

"It's enough that I know you're doing this for little Damian," Erin said. "You don't have to pay me a single penny. It's for your family," Erin smiled. "It's for your _son_," and with that, Erin handed Clodagh a few things, one of which was a phone. Clodagh nodded to her and Erin left the room. As she dialed a number, she hoped that she would be lucky today.

* * *

The phone rang. It's been ringing like that for a few days now—Kurt was never able to answer because, whenever the call was made, he was either performing or in an interview. Blaine was doing his own things, too, so he wouldn't be able to notice. Caller didn't even leave a message. But Kurt managed to catch it, this time. He had just gotten out of an interview and went straight home. The phone had just started ringing.

Kurt was quick to pick it up.

"Hello?" Kurt said into the phone. He looked at the caller ID and it showed nothing, other than a foreign number. By that, he meant _foreign_.

"_Kurt Hummel?_" A female voice asked. Kurt is familiar with this voice—he just can't pin the person.

"Yes, this is Kurt Hummel," Kurt said. "And who, may I ask, is this?"

"_...it's me, Clodagh Flanagan,_" the woman said and Kurt's eyes widened. "_I need to talk to you. It's very important,_" she said. Just then, the front door opened and Kurt lifted his gaze to see Blaine. Blaine smiled at him but, when Kurt didn't return the favor, Blaine knew something was up. "Who is it?" Blaine asked in a whisper. Kurt swallowed and mouthed Clodagh's name, making Blaine's eyes blow wide.

"What is it, Clodagh?" Kurt asked nervously, worried that something bad might have happened to his son. No matter how long it's been since Clodagh had ran off with Damian, the love and worry remained. As bad as it was for Clodagh to do that, he knew her. He knew her _that_ much.

"_I know you're mad at me for doing what I did, and I'm sorry for what I did to you,_" Clodagh started, pausing briefly before starting again; "_Now I know how bad it really was of me to do that. I fear that my actions have come back to haunt me,_" Clodagh said with a shaky breath. Kurt swallowed.

"What do you want, Clodagh?" Kurt asked sharply, wanting to her to get to the point.

"_Kurt Hummel, Rory—Damian needs to know who you are,_" Clodagh said, reminding herself to use the name that Kurt was used to; what he wanted to call his son. "_I've kept it a secret from him for far too long and, if he doesn't meet you now, then I'm afraid it's too late._"

Clodagh sounded serious. Blaine had walked up to Kurt and stood by him, listening in. Kurt pressed a button for Blaine to hear everything—he needed to be joined into this conversation. "_If he doesn't meet you now, he never would be able to. Neither would you._"

"What's this all about?" Blaine nearly growled. "We could have known him if you didn't run away with him. Why are you only now trying to get him to us?"

"_I'm ill, Blaine Anderson,_" Clodagh said, shutting Blaine up. "_I am very ill and I could die at any moment—and if I do, Damian would be left with nothing. All he knows is that I am the only one he's left with and if I part, I'm afraid he would have nothing left to live for. Nobody to love him, nobody to be loved by him. Karma has its ways, Blaine Anderson, and it has found me._"

Silence draped over them for a good moment, neither men knowing what to say. This woman on the other line, the woman who practically stole their happiness from them, was calling to say that their son needs them. It was something that they never expected; anger coursed through Blaine. Kurt, on the other hand, was confused. He knew very well what she was trying to say but—he doesn't know Damian. He _doesn't know_ his own son.

"So, what you mean to say is..." Kurt trailed off, unable to find his words.

"_Please take Damian back,_" Clodagh pleads. "_It's for his own good._"

"We would have done this sooner," Blaine said, nearly spat. Clodagh dragged in a breath.

"_It's not too late, Blaine Anderson,_" she said. "_All his life, he wondered why I'm the only person he has by his side—treated badly for it, too. I could never truly tell him. I wish to tell him, and to you as well, the reasons why I did what I now regret._"

"Where are you?" Kurt asked and Blaine sent him a look of confusion.

"_In Ireland, Kurt Hummel,_" Clodagh said. "_I can give you our address._"

"Please do," Kurt pleaded, looking at Blaine. "Blaine, when are we free?" Kurt asked. When Blaine twisted his face with confusion, Kurt knew he had to repeat. "When is it okay to go to Ireland? We have to—we have to meet Damian, Blaine."

Blaine frowned. "Kurt, you know we're booked the whole month."

"Can't we—can't we cancel?"

"You want to drop out of your latest leading Broadway role?" Blaine asked and, when Kurt gave him this look, he frowned at him. "Kurt, I want to see Damian, too. But, this is big. For you. Do you want to disappoint your audience, Kurt? They've been waiting for you to do this role..."

Kurt frowned and shook his head.

"Can...Can you wait a month?" Kurt asked, a question for Clodagh.

"_You can come whenever you could,_" Clodagh said. "_The important thing is that you do come._"

* * *

Clodagh had been waiting patiently, really. She trusted that the two would keep to their word, especially since they are coming to meet their son for the first time, in years. She thought that when Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson were done with whatever they were doing, they would be quick about coming over to Ireland. However, it had been over a month. Nearly two months, in fact.

Clodagh wanted to know what was taking them so long.

Not that there's a rush. Like always, Rory would drop the questions about his absent father when he sees that his mother was uncomfortable. Rory is a good boy, that way. However, Clodagh cannot bear hiding such a thing from him any longer. She felt guilty about hiding this from her own son, in the fourteen years of his life. She felt absolutely guilty and awful. More so because she could die at any moment and Rory would have nothing.

Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson needed to come soon.

That day, Clodagh had, once again, paid her sister Erin a visit. Erin was as concerned about the delay as Clodagh was. Erin was one of the few who knew about Kurt and Blaine, granted she was there with Clodagh even before the boy was conceived. She had her own part of the guilt, having had helped Clodagh out and back to their home country. Her own family had turned out okay, but Rory—Erin loves her sister, she really does, but Rory is important to her, too.

Both sisters agreed that having him meet his fathers was the right thing to do; but, now, they're not so sure if the two men really wanted to meet their long-lost son.

"_You have reached the Anderson-Hummel household. Unfortunately, we aren't here to take your call. Please leave a message after the beep..._"

"Hello, Kurt Hummel? Blaine Anderson? It's me again, Clodagh Flanagan," Clodagh started, looking over at her older twin. Erin bit her lip. "I just wanted to know when you would be coming by. I know we've agreed that you would come by in a month's time, however it has been over a month and—," Clodagh stopped herself with a sigh. "Please just call back when you receive this message. Speak with Erin, if you must," Clodagh cleared her throat nervously, losing hope of either men picking up. "Thank you and goodbye," she said before hanging up.

"They'll call," Erin ensured. Clodagh sighed and let her shoulders slump.

"I hope they do," Clodagh sighed, then looking up at Erin. She stood up from her place, followed by her sister. "Well, I have to go. Damian will be home soon and I would have to get some food ready," Clodagh said and Erin smiled at her. "Put some meat on his bones. I swear, he gets skinnier every time I see him. I'll bring a basketful of potato cakes the next time I come over," both women giggled and said their goodbyes, smiling.

Once she stepped out of her sister's house, the smile had dropped, her train of thought completely changed.

Clodagh didn't even think much of it that night, but it's getting clearer to her now; The Anderson-Hummel couple had not seen their son, Clodagh's little Rory, for nearly fifteen years. Sure, she'd always thought, in guilt, that they had been robbed of a chance to take part in Rory's life. She had thought that they would jump into a chance of meeting their son—however, was it really the case?

Fourteen years, a little ways to fifteen, is a very long time. They could have moved on, by now. Would they even feel a thing for Rory when they come—_if_ they come? Clodagh grew worried. What if they don't and she died? Rory would be left with Erin, yes, but—then what? When, _if_, Clodagh dies and _if_ the two men come for Rory, would they care for him? Would they love him as they did when he was still inside of her?

Clodagh must have been so deep in thought.

She didn't even hear it.

Didn't even _see_ it.

It took about an hour before the ambulance came.

* * *

Kurt's eyes stung.

It had been a week since he had heard the sad news; Clodagh had died. Not from her illness, but from an accident because she had been worried. She had died waiting for him and Blaine. He knew that that was what was on her mind, at the time. Kurt blamed himself for taking that extra month—_two_ months when he and Blaine had promised one. He wanted to come immediately, but there were so many distractions and just as much preparations.

It would have been great to give Clodagh one last hug, a goodbye.

Kurt went to pick up his bags, a little distracted by his train of thought; his mind was focused on the things that have happened prior to his flight. He and Blaine had received the papers that Clodagh sent, prepared things and laid paperwork for Damian's—or, from what they've learned from Clodagh, _Rory's—_arrival and stay. Blaine wanted to come with Kurt, his jealousy boiling at the time. However, jealousy turned into guilt and sadness once he'd heard about Clodagh's death. Kurt insisted on going alone, and that was why he was there, without his husband.

"Kurt Hummel?" Kurt heard a familiar voice calling for him and he quickly turned around, both of his luggage bags in hand. A woman who looked like Clodagh stood a fair distance from him, a small smile on her face. "I am Erin Atkins, Clodagh's sister," she said. "We've met before."

"I believe so," Kurt said meekly. Erin tilted her head curiously. "And Mr. Anderson isn't with you?"

Kurt shook his head. "No," he said simply, "An issue that he and I discussed. I insisted that I'd come alone."

"And he let you?" Erin asked and Kurt nodded. "Something about that issue," Kurt nodded again.

"He let you come by yourself because Clodagh is dead, right?" Erin asked and Kurt stayed silent. With a softly heaved sigh, the Irishwoman nodded and looked away. "We're holding a wake at Clodagh's house," she started, making Kurt look up from the ground and fixing his gaze at her. "Rory's a heartbroken mess, I tell you," Erin shrugged and looked back at Kurt with a smile. "I think it would do him good to know he's not as alone as he thinks."

Kurt smiled back. "I would love to meet him, too."

* * *

Rory stared blankly and absentmindedly into the air, eyes red and swollen from a week's worth of shedding streams of tears. It hurt to know that his mother was gone—and in a way he never knew would ever happen to someone like his mother. There was absolutely no reason why her death should be like that, and yet, that was what happened. It pained Rory so.

It was nice of his aunt Erin to take time away from her family, her husband and children, just to stay with Rory in this house which used to be his and his mother's. She just knew full well, and understood, that this house meant more for Rory when his mother died. She talked him through weeps and sobs while holding him. Trying to be a mother for him.

Rory has to wonder what would happen to him, now that he's alone.

His aunt Erin had to leave—something about picking someone up at the airport, a person who would be with her when she returned. A friend of his mother's, perhaps? All his aunt said was that it was a man from America, and that Rory would have to wait for her.

"Poor child," Rory heard one of his uncles say. The brunet just sat there, staring blankly where his mother lay, tears no longer falling from his eyes. It hurt too much that he can't even cry anymore. He ignored the glances and whispers of pity and 'poor boy's. Rory sat silently.

"Rory?" He heard someone call after a long moment. He looked up and saw that it was his aunt, back from her trip to the airport. How long has it been since she left? How long ago did she come back, for that matter? Rory just looked at her, a gaze that's as vacant as could be. The redheaded woman sighed and leaned towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Someone's here to see ye, boy," she said softly before standing straight and turning her head. She motioned for someone to come closer and Rory made the effort to turn his head to where his aunt was looking. A man walked up to them.

"Hello," the man said softly and gently, careful in its own way. Rory blinked, something about the man starting something in the back of his mind.

"Me boy, this here is Kurt Hummel. He knew yer mam and—he came all the way from America to see ye," Rory's aunt said and the boy arched a brow. "Not mammy?" He asked, looking over to his redheaded aunt. She shrugged. "Both of ye, but he's really here to see ye," she said before leaning close, close enough to whisper something in Rory's ear; "Whatever he says—ye best believe that it's for yer own good," and, with a pat, she left Rory with the man—_Kurt_.

"So, your name is Rory?" This man, this _Kurt Hummel_, asked as he took a seat next to Rory. Rory looked him over for a bit, something striking him about this man. A good moment and Rory nods. "Well, me name is Damian Joseph Flanagan. Supposedly. But me mam, me family and me friends call me Rory—and, now, that's what everybody calls me," he explained, voice low, shy and quiet. Kurt had to strain himself in order to hear the boy talk. He didn't seem mind, though. "I see," Kurt smiled. "Your mother gave you that name, Rory?"

Rory shrugged. "Well, me birth name, no. Mammy said me pap gave me that name," there was a long pause after Rory said this. It was strange to talk about his father now that his mother's gone. "But mammy—mammy said she wanted to name me _Rory_. But I guess me pap won that..."

Kurt nodded. "And your father..." Kurt paused for a bit, in thought, before continuing, "...can you tell me anything about your father?" He asked and Rory bit his lip.

"I never knew who he was," Rory admitted. "All me life, he wasn't there. It was just me and mammy," he said. "I don't know why, though. Mammy said me pap was happy when I was made—all I can think of is that he's dead," Rory shrugged. Kurt frowned.

"I guess your mother didn't share much about your father, huh?"

Rory shook his head. "I reckon she didn't like talking about him. She always avoided it," Rory sighed and paused for a long moment, head hung and face buried in his hands. Kurt patted his shoulder. After a while, Rory looked over at the older brunet. "But, um," he started, clearing his throat. "How do ye—?"

"How do I know your mother?" Kurt asked, catching on. Rory nodded. "I knew her when she was still in America..." Kurt said and Rory's eyes widened, the boy lightening up somehow.

"I never knew she went to America," Rory mumbled. Kurt smiled.

"It was before you were born that she came there," Kurt started, having piqued Rory's interest. "She saw America as something of a step towards a better and more successful life—or, at least, that's what I remember her saying," Kurt gave a soft laugh and shrugged. "She loved America."

"How did you meet?" Kurt's smile softened.

"Well, I had a friend who knew her," Kurt said, remembering how Rachel brought it up at that one moment. He and Blaine weren't even sure, at the time, but Rachel went for it. "Your mother—she needed a job, and we offered her one that it seemed, to us, that she liked," Kurt shrugged. He remembered the then eighteen year-old Clodagh, only happy to help a couple like Blaine and himself to have a baby. She wanted to help them then, and Kurt knew that. "When your mother got pregnant with you, I was there, you know?"

"You were?" Rory's eyes sparkled, happy. Probably for the first time since his mother had died. Kurt nodded.

"She stayed at our house the whole time," Kurt continued. "We were nice to her. Very much so."

"We?" Rory inquired and Kurt nodded. "My husband and I," Kurt said carefully, watching Rory's face. In a way, he was surprised that Rory didn't react negatively about him being with another man. He would have to talk to Rory about this once he got down to telling him the truth of his birth. Otherwise, he followed through Rory's urging look. "She stayed at our home and we took good care of her—took good care of you, as an unborn child, in a way."

"Does that mean that ye know who me pap is?" The innocent gleam in Rory's eyes made Kurt want to just get straight to the point and tell him who he really is. "Is he from America?"

"Yes."

"Do ye know him?"

"Very well."

"Is he still alive?"

"He is."

Rory's lips twisted momentarily, eyes flickering between happy and sad. Rory was happy to know that his father wasn't dead, but sad because—if he was alive, and he was as happy with him as his mother made him sound, why didn't he come see him? Why didn't he have a full family, with both his parents? Rory has to wonder if his father ever thought of him, if he remembers him, even. Where he is, what he's doing and things like that. Curiosity and worry ran through him. "Does—does pap ever think about me?" He asked, his tone soft and sad.

"Everyday," Kurt said after a long pause, voice breaking slightly. That very question struck him. "He—he misses you a lot, and even though he never knew you, he loves you."

A tear rolled down Rory's eye, running down his cheek—but, this time, a smile was on his face. "Really?"

"Really," Kurt said softly. Rory's smile grew, having to hang his head to hide it. He supposed that his mother never lied to him. The thought of finally knowing more about his father was just what he needed to get through a time of loss. The moment was then broken by Kurt's voice; "I came all the way here for you, Rory," he said. "Before your mother died – or, rather, on the day she got hit – she made a call to someone in America. Did you ever know what she said? Who she talked to? Were you even there?"

"No," Rory mumbled, honest. "I...I was at me school. I didn't know anything until they called me home."

"So you knew nothing about it?" Rory shook his head. Kurt nodded.

"She called because she wanted you to be taken to America," Kurt said softly, and Rory looked up at him with widened eyes, the very look a question of _why_. "You at least knew that she was ill, didn't you? That she could have died even if the accident didn't happen?" Kurt asked and Rory, after a long moment, nodded. Kurt continued; "She wanted you to be with someone who would love you and take care of you when she passed. She wanted you to be with someone who can raise you. She didn't want you to be alone. She didn't want you to be left with nothing and no one," there was a pause, Kurt taking in a deep breath before he went on; "So she called your father..."

Rory sat up straight, Kurt's turn to slouch.

"She called _me_."

* * *

_End of Chapter_

* * *

_**Author's Note**_: I know I said I'd update every week, but things have been difficult for me. Sorry if the ending to this chapter, or the whole chapter in general, seemed like crap—it was rushed. But I have a few chapters planned, now, so there would be a little less problems. Except for the fact that the next few weeks would be preparatory days for final exams. Well, I hope I can still write through that. Anyway, please review! I'm excited to write the next chapter. Whee! Sam time!


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